AN: This is my first fan fiction so feedback would be welcome! This has been writing itself in my head since I saw the film (I read the books before as well so don't fret ;) ) because I loved what they did with Seneca. Who will appear soon enough, so please bear with me! I just need to get there first. - I'm using artistic license here, because Seneca wouldn't have been head game maker for the 69th games. But he is in this story :)

This room. This building. A place I never wanted to see again. Hadn't enough bad fortune fallen on our family already? Why me? Why me? The last time I had entered the justice building was to say farewell to my sister. My 13 year old sister. The girl who'd held me whenever I woke screaming for my mother, my dead mother. The girl who'd picked up the pieces of our broken family. To me, she was the strongest person I'd ever known. I was 10 when her name was picked at the reaping. No volunteers that year. She didn't make it home. She didn't make it past the third day. 7 years had passed since then; my father and I, the only ones left, had somehow found peace again. I thought we'd be ok; we wouldn't go back to that dark place, a place hope and happiness had abandoned long ago. That is until today. The reaping. No female volunteers again this year.

My name is Kai Tate. I am 17 years old. I live in district 4. This is my story. The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, my toil shall strive to mend.

"Kai, sweetheart, wake-up," My father called up the stairs of our rickety little cottage that stood near the docks that held our only fishing boat. Daylight was already streaming through the tattered curtains, but I kept my eyes squeezed shut, holding onto the peace for just a moment longer. Today was the day of the Reaping. All the calm I'd managed to carefully build up inside me disappeared completely and I opened my eyes. My hands were already shaking and I felt sick. I stood and walked to the window, pulling it open to look outside. These sorts of days are the ones I love, the air was already warm and the sun painted patterns on the quiet sea, making specks of light dance on the hulls of the boats that were docked. If it was any other day I would have gone swimming, or spent hours spear fishing in the cool shallows. Not today though. Through the fear that always gripped me on the day of the reaping, I always felt a sense of unity between myself and the other children, not only in my district, but in the other 11 too. Well, except the Careers. District 4 had had its fair share of volunteers, those girls and boys who could be seen running or wrestling or throwing spears or tridents in the early morning. So we've had our fair share of victors too. I guess the reason I felt so anxious today was because no female volunteers would be stepping forward to take my place if I was picked today.

My father had hung a dress by my door. My heart contracted as I recognised the folds of green chiffon, it was my mother's favourite dress. She used to wear it at the spring festivals or the fishing celebrations, or our birthdays. I held it to my face, breathing in her scent that just about clung onto the material, and suddenly I was a child again, giggling with delight as she swung me round and round, as we danced at the harvest festival on the beach. That's one of the only memories I have of my mother, I was just 5 when she died. My father told me she died in her sleep, people did that sometimes, it just happened. Years later I found out she drowned while out on a fishing voyage. It was rough and they shouldn't have gone out at all, anyone from District 4 could tell you that, but the capitol had a quota that needed to be met no matter what. I still dream about her, struggling in the waves, screaming for help to a boat that was being carried away from her by the swelling sea. Those are the nights I wake up with her name on my lips. There were many orphans in District 4, whose parents had met the same common fate, I was lucky to have my father still.

I pulled the dress on; enjoying the way the smooth material slid so easily across my skin, and brushed my hair into submission. My dad called my name again, so I grabbed the bracelet my sister made for me out of old net rope and a ribbon for my 7th birthday and left my room, closing the door firmly behind me, praying hard that this wouldn't be the last time I would shut the door, walk down the stairs, and run my hand along the shells embedded on our banister. I walked into the kitchen where dad was placing a loaf of bread on the table. He stopped when he saw me, his face contorting with emotion.

"My little girl." He choked out, his eyes looking a little watery. "You look so beautiful."

"Come on dad; don't go all soft on me!" I tried to joke, attempting to keep up the carefree bravado I put on for every reaping. In truth, I wanted to cry, run, hide. I walked across the small room and put my arms around him. It hurt me to see how frail he was looking; you'd think years of working in the open sea air would make you fit and strong. Then again, that's probably only the case if you had enough food to keep you going, which was never the case for many of us here. Dad wiped a tear from his misty eyes and held me at arm's length, looking intently at me.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

"I'm fine. Well fine considering." I smiled weakly, annoyed at the tears that were pricking my eyes. I needed to be strong now.

"That's my girl. Always a fighter." He said. That's what he always said to me and I think he truly believed it. I certainly didn't. Daria, my sister, was the fighter in our family. She'd been the strongest when mum died, and she didn't even shed a tear when she was picked to be a tribute. Unwanted memories made their way to the front of my mind; how I'd clung to her, begging her to come back, telling her how much I needed her. How father and I had sat in our house not talking, not moving, all night after the train took her away from us forever. How we would huddle together in a community hall in front of the TV, watching her parade, her interview, the launch. How I kept telling dad it would be ok, she'd be ok, as the careers took down tribute after tribute at the cornucopia. How I'd held his hand as she fled to the woods, the other tribute from our district, a volunteer, hot on her heels. How I somehow got him home, half carrying him, after they surrounded her, the careers, and taunted her for too long before taking her life. It was Murphy, the volunteer from our district who'd delivered the final, fatal blow. I'm glad he didn't make it home. The traitor.

I blinked, dragging myself back to the present. I didn't need to go there today. I accepted the tea dad handed to me, and took slow sips of the hot liquid, knowing that's the only thing I could stomach until after the reaping. We didn't talk much over breakfast. I know he was thinking about Daria, the heavy silence said as much. The sounds of people making their way to the square pulled us from our thoughts, and I felt my face going pale. He put his hand on my shoulder.

"It'll be ok sweetheart." He said softly, pulling me to my feet. "May the odds be ever in your favor." He brushed a stray strand of hair behind me ear.

Numbly, I walked out of the door, out of the safety of our cottage. Dad guided me through the crowds, and I was glad because my feet weren't listening to me.

"I'll see you after ok?" He said with a smile, though I could see the fear in his eyes. Daria used to say you could always tell what dad was thinking by looking into his eyes, a trait I'd inherited apparently. I nodded, squeezing his hand, more to comfort me than him, and turned away with a deep breath. Forcing myself to walk calmly to the officials checking us all in.

"Name?" A sallow looking man asked me as I reached the front of the queue.

"Kai Tate." I said as confidently as I could. He directed me to the place where other girls my age stood, not that I needed it. I'd done this 4 times already. I smiled at the girls already assembled, no one talked though, well not until Maria arrived. Some people talk when they're nervous. She is a prime example of this.

"Kai!" I hear her before I see her. "Oh gosh, it never gets any better does it? Barely slept at all last night. I just can't stop imagining my name being picked. But hopefully the odds are in my favor today." She put her arms around me as she babbled nervously. I couldn't blame her for it, it's just who she is, how she expresses herself. We were never close until my sister was picked. Then she sort of picked me off my feet, helped me back. I think she felt sorry for me. Like me her brother was picked, well no he wasn't, he volunteered. Not the year Daria was picked, the year before. He did well, made it to the final three, and it looked like he was going to win, until the game makers sent in a land slide. Lets just say the odds weren't in his favor. I think in actual fact his father, who was high up in our district, must have offended the Capitol in some way. Coincidence and the games are two things that don't go together.

I put my hand in hers, and she clung to it. The contact made me feel calmer, like I wasn't alone. Oregon, the escort for our district clattered on to the stage in ridiculous heels, in a fluorescent blue color that matched the rest of her hideous Capitol outfit. Blue like the sea! You could almost hear her tinkle in her stupid squeaky voice. I looked at the dusty ground, trying to stop my heart hammering so quickly as she did the whole Capitol spiel she did every year.

"Without further ado!" She trilled, "Ladies first!" Her hand went into the bowl, her manicured nails caressing the slips. I wanted to scream at her to hurry up! This was agony. ...Me. A begging prayer went through my head. I heard Maria saying the same thing under her breathe. She picked a slip and slowly, so slowly, unfolded it. "KAI TATE!"

No. NO.

What? NO.

Please. No.

I was vaguely aware of Maria squeezing my hand. "Go on." She whispered, her face already pale. Tears already in her eyes. Mourning my imminent death already. It was with shaking hands I made my way to the stage. There was a roaring in my ears, though I knew it came from my head. I knew that no female careers had been selected to volunteer this year, the unofficial head trainer deemed none of them ready. I looked numbly out at the crowds in front of me as Oregon pulled me into the middle of the stage and asked a silent crowd if there were any volunteers. The silence went on.

"Time for the boys!" She sang happily, as her hand went into the other bowl. "THOMAS MURRAY!" She called out, looking at the crowd with a benign smile that I wanted to slap off her stupid face. A small boy, a terrified young boy who looked only 12, began stumbling to the stage, already in tears before- "I VOLUNTEER!" An 18 year old I recognized from school and seeing him training almost constantly around the district swaggered to the stage. Thomas Murray collapsed in relief. Lucky boy.

"Oh! And whats your name young man?" Asked Oregon.

"Adrian Devon." He said in a voice as big as him. Here was a victor if ever I've seen one. He walked with steady feet to me, and shook my hand as is the practice.

"Such fun! Such fun!" Oregon crooned happily as we were escorted to the justice building and in to separate rooms. I'd barely made it through the doors before I collapsed. Desperation taking over.